


the way you came like a tsunami

by tnevmucric



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied Suicidal Character, Kinda, M/M, No Metaverse (Persona 5), POV First Person, Stream of Consciousness, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnevmucric/pseuds/tnevmucric
Summary: "you always know what i'm thinking."





	the way you came like a tsunami

Days like today, the unimportant days, I used to live within my own space, with my four walls, with myunderwhelming sense of dread that still settles over me in the same way night turns to day—slowly, expectantly, and morosely bland. I try to convince myself that I am subject to my own judgement only.

"You can't force yourself to be who you aren't", he says. I look for him in the reflection of the mirror; his eyes are cast down and barely open, minuscule lines of worry pressed into the space between his eyebrows. I feel like asking him what he's thinking, what plans he has tomorrow—his chest moves firmly with each breath and when he looks up, it's almost kind. _Will you remember me?_ I don't know what he's thinking.

"You always know what I'm thinking." It comes out of my mouth in this derogatory way that sours my ego. _What will he remember if I leave? My smile? My teeth? Is there anything in me worthwhile?_ I can barely see.

Regardless, he smiles back at me, gentle and giving.

"You're so lovely."

The compliment lingers in me like the feeling of saltwater on sunburned legs. It asks: "Hey, where are you headed? Are you in a hurry?"

Nowhere. Just nowhere.

"Don't say things like that", I reply eventually. I turn away from the mirror and leave the bathroom: he's leant backwards on the corner of my bed, propped up only by his elbows and effortless in a way I envy. He doesn't roll his eyes in his usual manner but gives way to a short, resigned breath and sits up from his slanted position.

"Thank you for letting me stay the night, anyway. It's nice to spend time with you."

 _It's only for tonight._ I feel weak behind the eyes and suddenly tense in my spine—my shirt doesn't feel big enough to hide my hidden secrets, and it has the same abruptness of a car crash: my bones confess the damage report.

"I didn't think it could feel so good." It's felt like living with my head half-through a door where the grass is greener and my hands are cleaner: December has never felt so embittered, Christmas never so close. He looks over at me with a small smile, hopeful and artificially sweetened.

"Oh?"

I shake my head. "To just be."

"If only for a little while."

"... Yes."

"We're anyone right now", he adds auspiciously. "Anywhere, any _when_."

"That's not a word."

"I know."

He stands somewhere, some _when_ now, on the edge of a cliff with his hand outstretched. How funny it is to feel both so exposed and stealth.

“Goro-”

“Not tonight”, I interrupt. “Not tonight.”

There is an exhausting quiet followed by my own audible remorse. My grief is my entire weight, I am beaten down by my own reasoning. He looks kicked, halfway heartbroken, and I rub my face irritably, leaning my lower back against the dresser. "You're upset."

"How can I not be?", he laughs humourlessly. "You're breaking my heart."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I love you."

It feels like the first time someone told me they loved me all over again, that excitement and that fear, so distinguishable from everything else that it's easy to question whether it's real. That unhealthy itch of codependency, that _I’ll live for you_ feeling.

"I want to kiss you." It leaves his mouth without reserve or resistance; I am equally enthralled and petrified. I feel wide open, spread apart, I want his eyes glued to my screen, and his ear buds jammed deep inside me. Listen—I want him _trembling_. Thumbs aching from sharing. "I wanted to kiss you months ago."

Close. Close.

 _Then kiss me. Stay on top because I'm so wet down here._ When he pulls, I push. When he holds, I stay still. I've never felt safer, never felt more alone, and he makes me _hope_. He makes me want.

He pulls me onto his lap and the mattress depresses beneath us: his hands my hands, his thighs my thighs... Justice, stress; they interchange in the same which ways our tongues do—hot plate red and hypothermic blue. I almost sigh, but it's far too soon. I’m gone tomorrow, I’m out-of-body now and my heart _races_.

"Don't think about it", he whispers, a slur against my lips conjoined with our intermingled spit. "Don't think about it", he repeats and my whole body shivers in his lap, jolts to life, and it's like he's taken a stroll inside: hung his keys by the door and left his shoes on the front step.

There’s something endearing in the way my skin pulls taut for him, the way it loosens to make room. He is every darling word. Every blink of my eye.

"We should get married one day."

My laugh is wet and rattles across my chest and his neck; he scares me and while I don’t know what he’ll remember of me, I know I’ll remember him this way—my carpet, my wallpaper, my furnishings.

"You sound optimistic”, I whisper.

"I am."

 _Please stop_. “I deserve a better proposal.”

He kisses me hard, touching me on the inside with a finger full of famine and a heart overflown. He’s folding my clothes.

“Tomorrow”, he promises. “Just give me a day.”

Just a day, and we’ll sort the rest out later.


End file.
